


Our Mothers' Sons

by elDiablito



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Head-Canon, M/M, Oral Fixation, Original Character(s), Parental Death, Pre-canon universe, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 13:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10465908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elDiablito/pseuds/elDiablito
Summary: Before he was Commander Sendak, he was a young Galra soldier bent on honoring his family name in battle.Before he was summoned to defeat Voltron in the stead of his father, Prince Lotor was a young soldier, too, trying to find himself both on the battlefield and in the arms of others.Before the loss of limbs, of family, of pride, of time, they were two young men in something that looked like love.





	

 

 

 

 

 

 

> ****_we die together from loving each other: an open death, by dilution into the ether, a closed death of the shared grave._
> 
> _\--_ Roland Barthes, _A Lover’s Discourse_

 

 

As Lotor knelt in front of him--one of Sendak’s thick fingers pressed against the tongue lying dark and wet in his open mouth--the Galra soldier’s mind flickered, a video interface on the fritz.

 

This image of Lotor, with his rough tongue lapping against the base of Sendak’s middle finger, his eyes half lidded and his bare chest trembling with pleasured breaths, was so dissonant to how Sendak had always seen the prince since the first evening he laid eyes on him that heat rose from the young soldier’s chest to the tips of his furred ears.

 

He thought he should be ashamed, should be reprimanded, but Lotor only held his gaze, closed his lips, and sucked hard.

 

_Is this what love looks like?_

 

They first met when Sendak was a child.

 

Sendak had not yet been enlisted into requisite military service that defined the adolescent years of every citizen of the Galra Empire. As a prepubescent youth, he was scruffy with light purple fur just beginning to fill out, a little round at the middle, and boasting large ears--like his father’s--that he would have to grow into. He was accompanying his mother to a state dinner, a celebration of yet another of Commander Sendak Ira’s successful conquests. Sitting side-by-side, one couldn’t have guessed their relation beyond the semi-permanent scowls they both wore; it wouldn’t be until his adolescence that the young Sendak would also display his mother’s height.

 

The Commander paid polite attention to the generals seated around their table who were chatting and drinking. Occasionally, the man sitting to her left would lean in close to include her in the conversation--a little too close by Sendak’s estimate. Could the general not see the gold bracelet still encircling her wrist?

 

Sendak had learned early that the bond between his parents had been an anomaly; most men wanted Ira for her political standing and strong genes, and her stunted son by an engineer from the colonies was of little consequence to their schemes of procreation and advancement.

 

For Galra soldiers, love meant hasty, contractual unions to transfer benefits and pensions before deployment to lethal fronts.

 

Love meant it wasn’t rape if you received a promotion afterward.

 

Love meant _penetration of_ was equivalent to _power over_.  

 

Sendak was convinced that what he saw between his parents as a child was something different--transcendent--from love entirely.

 

The general swept the back of his scaled fingers against the Commander’s jaw, a quick, intimate gesture that would have been easy to miss if Sendak hadn’t been scrutinizing his every movement. To her son’s immediate pleasure, Ira tilted her head away from his touch in a graceful rejection. Foiled in his advancements, the general retreated, taking a prolonged sip from his glass in an attempt to save face.

 

Then, as if a power surge had amplified the light in the dining hall, the sight of a gleaming figure gliding across the room captured Sendak’s attention.

 

White hair flipped around the boy’s neck as he walked, and a golden circlet glinted like a starlit planetary ring at the crown of his head. His chin was tilted up with an air that was not haughty or self righteous but self-aware, aware of his sharp, singular beauty and the way the air hummed around him as though he were a source of electricity. Sendak reached for his mother’s coat below the table and tugged her sleeve.

 

When she looked down at him with her steady golden gaze, he said, “Who is _that_?”

 

The Commander’s eyes softened, and her lips, bisected by an old scar, curled as though amused for a reason the child couldn’t place.

 

“That,” she said, “is the Emperor’s son, Prince Lotor.”

 

With something alight in his chest like the striking of a match, Sendak peeled his eyes away from his mother and searched for the prince again. He found him and locked onto his target. At that moment, Lotor had paused at the side of the conservative, ceremonial throne--currently empty--which was positioned before a huge purple curtain emblazoned with the Galra seal. The Emperor’s primary advisors flanked the seat. Lotor exchanged words with a Druid who stood at the right hand of the throne, tossing his hair with a flippant tilt of the head at something she said--probably a reprimand for his lateness.

 

After a moment, Lotor turned back toward the room to shower the officers and their families with a smile and a generous wave of acknowledgement like a young god bestowing rain upon a drought-devastated land. Applause rose from the hall, Commander Sendak clapping in turn as her son looked around in amazement. Everyone was delighted by the young prince, their reverence untainted by the undercurrent of fear they held for Zarkon, which Sendak had recognized even as a child. When the applause quieted, Lotor stepped forward out of line with the high officers.

 

Sendak could not recall if this had been the case or if he simply remembered it this way, but Lotor stood bathed in light, his features clear and crisp, his decorative uniform cut and polished as though his very body were crafted from precious stones. His hair was shorn just above his shoulders, soft and loose and curling at the ends toward his strong chin. His face was a fine balance of strength and delicacy; the high cheekbones and strong jaw line were offset by full lips and eyes fringed in thick white lashes. Twin fuschia marks trailed down his cheeks and dipped through the corners of his lips toward his chin, and the marks seemed to glow against his twilight skin. Thick gold hoops dripped from the lobes of his pointed ears. Even in his youth, Lotor stood tall with a form as graceful as it was lethal.

 

Sendak had never seen a person like him, and he could not decide if the thrumming of his chest was due to enrapture or unplaceable fear, a sensation close to spiritual.

 

“It is a pleasure to have you all gathered here this evening,” Lotor said, his voice ringing clear as unfiltered light throughout the hall. “I speak on behalf of my father when I say that the exploits of those gathered here have exemplified the glory and strength of the Galra Empire, and we are deeply grateful for your service.”

 

Applause swelled again in response, punctuated by a chorus of “Vrepit sa!,” then fell and parted like waves.

 

“While there are many who have contributed to the Empire’s successful unification of disparate, warring galaxies--” here, a few claps and a patriotic cheer interjected “--we must recognize the efforts of one of our very best in executing such an arduous task during our most recent venture. Commander Sendak Ira, will you join me here?”

 

Sendak’s mother rose from the table to more applause. Her son looked up at her as though peering toward a star hanging at the zenith of the sky, blinking and blinded by wonder. She stood large and lean and intimidating even outside of her ubiquitous armored uniform, elegant in a high-collared charcoal coat pulled over her burgundy ceremonial suit. She pushed back her seat and stepped away from the table, pausing as she realized her son was still seated in a daze.

 

Offering a smile reserved for him, she held out a hand to gesture, _Come._

 

Sendak scrambled out of his chair, tugging straight his jacket, righting his posture, and smoothing back his unruly cock’s-crest of hair as he fell into step behind his mother. They were accompanied to the front of the hall by cheers, soldiers from his mother’s unit riled up with their respect and admiration for the woman who all but owned their lives. She had guided them through countless harrowing, sometimes suicidal, missions with lucidity of vision and diamond-edged strategy; they could not but sing her praises.

 

As the mother and son approached, Lotor welcomed them with a studied, close-lipped smile. He looked first at the Commander, gesturing for her to step into place beside him in a position of honor, and then at Sendak. As his mother spoke, acknowledging her men and the Empire, Sendak and Lotor held sideways gazes behind her back.  

 

Lotor gave him a brief once-over, grinned. He seemed amused by the small, scruffy figure with big ears and crooked jacket collar who was somehow the progeny of the notorious Commander Sendak. With a soft laugh, Lotor turned his attention back to the adoring room. For the remainder of the evening, however, Sendak could hardly look away.

 

“You're thinking,” Lotor mouthed around Sendak’s finger. He pulled away, and a pearlescent thread of saliva hung between his lips and Sendak’s filed claw.

 

“I'm…” Sendak wasn't positive _what_ he was at that moment.

 

Lotor stood, the movement like a flower growing and unfurling in quick time. He looked over Sendak who was sitting, spread-legged, at the edge of the dormitory bed. The private rooms in the barracks were narrow, comfortable for one person but stuffy with two--particularly two young men of Sendak and Lotor’s statures. With Lotor standing now, Sendak was at eye level to the prince’s bare pectorals, the rippling plane of muscular stomach just below his periphery. Sendak shifted backwards onto the bed as Lotor stepped closer between his legs.

 

“You're nervous,” he said.

 

Sendak swallowed hard, and Lotor took that as response enough.

 

“You shouldn't be.” Lotor reached a slender hand out to caress Sendak’s jaw, but the younger soldier unconsciously flinched away from his touch. The prince’s face clouded.

 

“Forgive me,” Sendak said. “I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

 

A fissure cracked along Lotor’s level expression. He stepped forward, and shot a hand out to shove Sendak down. Sendak's head hit the wall with a deep _thud_ as he slumped back, Lotor bending over him with a knee planted on the mattress in front of Sendak’s groin.

 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Lotor said.  

 

Sendak shook his head but couldn’t think of a rebuttal that wouldn’t be a bold-faced lie. He had been avoiding Lotor, not altogether consciously. It was a response to energy, a shift in the current of the other soldiers away from the prince.

 

Sendak had been in the mess hall when he overheard two younger soldiers talking from a few seats away, leaning toward each other with hushed tones. _Did you see Prince Lotor pass through here?_ Sendak’s ears had twitched in their direction.

 

_Yeah, why?_

_He shaved the sides of his head, did you not see that?_

_What of it?_

_You’re a dumbass. You can’t tell me you haven’t heard the talk going around._

 

There was a pause.

 

_You don’t really think he’s--_

_Lotor must think so if he’s that self-conscious._

_Well, whatever he is, Commander Karak must be in to it. Haxus said he overheard them going at it in the armory._

 

A bark of a laugh followed.

 

_No fucking way. I thought that was just a rumor._

_Haxus said Lotor walked out with a limp. Rumor that._

 

“What are you afraid of, Cornelius?” Lotor said, all but crawling into Sendak’s lap as he planted a hand against the wall beside his head.

 

“We shouldn't--” Sendak tried again, but Lotor caught his betraying gaze slip from the prince’s eyes to his slick, wet lips.

 

“What?” Lotor smacked his hand against the wall. “You're afraid you'll be called an Altean-fucker?”

 

The slam of the prince’s hand reverberated in Sendak’s skull, jogging him out of his heated stupor. He remembered it was better to respond to the prince’s temper by _not_ responding.

 

“Lotor,” Sendak said. “I don't put stock in rumors.”

 

Lotor retracted a bit; Sendak almost convinced them both.

 

“Why are you running away from me, then?” Lotor dipped his head to look at Sendak through his eyelashes in the way that made the soldier’s throat dry.

 

“I have roll call in--” Sendak glanced at the time counter screen at the top of the wall “--too damn soon. It's our unit’s first combat deployment; you know that. I need sleep.”

 

Lotor studied him for a lie like a decryptor scanning walls of code, trying to crack the message.

 

“Are you afraid?” Lotor said, voice low, his former anger diffusing as warmth.

 

“Of combat?”

 

“Of death.”

 

A sensation like cold water dripped down Sendak’s spine.

 

“No,” he said, and he almost believed this too.

 

Lotor’s lips pressed into a line. He climbed the rest of the way onto the bed, knees on either side of Sendak’s hips as he lowered onto his lap, as entitled and disinterested in his seat as a pet reclining on its owner. Sendak, however, tensed beneath him, hyperaware of the proximity of their crotches and the heat of Lotor’s thighs on top of his own. The hand planted beside his head retracted and grasped Sendak’s chin, tilted his face upward to bring their faces into parallel, exposing Sendak’s throat.

 

“You should be afraid of death,” Lotor said. “For the Galra Empire, the options are ‘victory’ or ‘death.’ And if you want to be successful--” Sendak tried to jerk his head out of Lotor’s grip, but Lotor held him fast “--if you want to be the next _Commander Sendak_ \--” this struck the proper chord “--then you must fear death more than you crave victory.”

 

Sendak looked at him, point blank, direct in a way he had not allowed himself since he and Lotor had returned to his dormitory together, shoulders almost touching and hands ghosting past each other along the way. Lotor had sought him out after weight training and showers, leaning against the battered surface of a locker as Sendak pulled on casualwear for the closing of the day. The prince was shirtless, skin flushed and hair damp from the shower, and his leggings sat low and tight on his hips.

 

“Where are you headed?” Lotor said, giving him a once-over that lingered just long enough to make Sendak’s neck hot.

 

“Just to the barracks,” Sendak said. He began to gather his things, busy himself as Lotor’s presence bared down on him like g-forces. The prince’s warm skin suffused a clean, heady perfume that made Sendak’s head swim.

 

Lotor nodded, glanced at his fingernails, then said, so unabashedly that Sendak slammed his locker shut, “Mind if I join you?”

 

Sendak didn't have to say yes; Lotor had followed him to his dorm without a word.

 

Without thinking, Sendak raised a hand to comb back Lotor’s hair, which had been shaved down on either side of his skull, leaving only a long mohawk of white Lotor kept braided into a rope down his back. When the rumors started to circulate, Lotor had in fact sheared off his signature locks in an attempt to blend in. Strands fell loose from the messy braid, and Sendak tucked them behind Lotor’s pointed ears, which were laced with delicate gold hoops, as always.

 

Lotor’s eyes narrowed, anticipatory and incredulous at Sendak’s shift to affection. He couldn’t have known that Sendak was playing no game with him, had never been playing a game.

 

The memory of a mess hall conversation from their youth unfolded in the back of Sendak’s mind, crinkled around the edges but no less legible. Due to his mother’s ranking, Sendak was allowed to dine with the prince on occasion--upon Lotor’s request--accompanying the prince at a separate table from the hall full of trainees and soldiers where two imperial guards stood silent against the wall behind them. While Sendak had only just been promoted from primary education to military conditioning, Lotor was well into combat training, a fine youth who had outgrown the clumsiness of early pubescence and was radiant even in the sterile light of the mess hall. Looking at him then, Sendak couldn’t believe that Lotor, this kid twirling a strand of hair around his finger and playing with his food, already boasted a handful of confirmed kills.

 

Lotor slurped at the straw punched into his refreshment pack, looking around at all the young soldiers eating and chatting and throwing sporks at each other from across the table. Sendak wasn’t opposed to being distinguished from the others, set off as they were at the end of the hall, but he could see in Lotor’s lingering stares the cloud of longing.

 

“How have your studies been, Your Highness?” Sendak said, hoping to pull Lotor out of his melancholy with his favorite topic of discussion.

 

The effect was instantaneous; Lotor brightened like a firework.

 

“Incredible, Cornelius,” Lotor said, leaning forward. “Haggar has taught me some new tricks.”

 

Sendak had listened, watching Lotor’s mouth move. His reverence for the prince only grew with time.

 

In his first weeks of combat training, Sendak had observed in silent awe when Lotor sparred with the junior trainees as a senior instructor. His body moved as though a spirit of war were playing his muscles like a harp. Sweat glinted on his bare arms and back as he stood, one boot planted between the shoulder blades of his felled sparring partner.

 

With a flip of his braid over his shoulder, Lotor swung his gaze toward the queue of trainees waiting their turn for a match. When he saw Sendak at the end of the line, he smiled, an expression untainted as starlight.

 

“Do you want me or not?” Lotor said, voice barely above a whisper.

 

“We could die,” Sendak said. “Out on the front.”

 

Taking that as an answer, Lotor reached down to make quick work of his belt.

 

“We could die,” Lotor said in agreement.

 

“I don’t want you to die.” This was the most truth Sendak had spoken yet.

 

Lotor paused. “I won’t be allowed to,” he said. “I’m not disposable.”

 

Sendak nodded, watched the prince’s fingers pull open the front of his trousers, freeing the bulge there from the confines of the clasps. Lotor pushed up Sendak’s shirt, lifting the black fabric up over the expanse of his pecs so that the stretch would hold it out of his way. He ran the tips of his fingers down Sendak’s furred chest, over his lean stomach, and relished the shivers his touch elicited like ripples of water bursting at the contact of a fallen leaf.

 

Lotor’s touch was so gentle that adrenaline began pumping through Sendak, as though he were being threatened; Galra did not touch each other this way, as if breakable.

 

Sendak pulled his eyes away from Lotor’s hand back up to his face and realized the prince was...nervous. Lotor worried his lower lip between his teeth, and his breaths were shallow. Heat flooded Sendak’s body, making the hairs on his neck and arms stand up, his fingers tingle.

 

“Are you afraid?” Sendak said, turning Lotor’s words on him.

 

Lotor blinked at him. “Of death?”

 

“No,” Sendak said. “Of me.”

 

Lotor froze, his nails digging into Sendak’s stomach. His eyes were unflinching, his jaw set as though he were overseeing the conquest of a planet, not trying to have sex with a fellow soldier.

 

“I’m not afraid,” Lotor said, betraying the presence of some other underlying emotion. “I’ve wanted you a long time.”

 

Sendak couldn't rebuke that, not when he'd stood in stunned silence during his mother’s speech after Lotor had done nothing but smile his way; not when he'd felt a blush speckle his cheeks when Lotor had pilfered his dessert off his lunch tray, licking the spoon with delighted abandon; not when he’d had his ass handed to him by Lotor during combat training and, with the weight of Lotor’s boot on his chest still impressed in his memory, had fucked his own fist that night.

 

But how could Lotor just _say_ it so plainly? Perhaps it was the confidence of being the imperial heir; he couldn't know how it felt to be told “no,” to be disappointed or rejected. Sendak recognized the root of his anxiety then: was he just another conquest?

 

He decided to gamble with Lotor--but not without playing the first hand.

 

Sendak lifted his fingers to Lotor’s mouth, pressed the pad of his middle finger against the prince’s lower lip, and waited for him to open again, obedient. As Lotor allowed Sendak to slip his finger into his mouth, onto his tongue, deep, the prince’s eyes fell shut. Reverent in his observation, Sendak watched as Lotor closed his lips once more around his finger and lavished his tongue along its side. Sendak heard a groan and realized too late that it had sprung from his own throat.

 

Lotor’s eyelids fluttered open at the sound. He grinned around Sendak’s finger then craned his neck forward to take it even deeper. When Sendak’s finger tip hit the hot, wet back of Lotor’s throat, his cock pulsed. Lotor’s tongue flicked out to lick the crevice between Sendak’s middle and index finger, grinding his hips into the younger soldier’s lap simultaneously.

 

On reflex, Sendak tried to pull away, but Lotor's swift hand flew up to stay him. Lotor’s eyes opened and bore into Sendak’s as he retreated enough to speak, saliva trailing down his chin.

 

“Why are you hesitating?” he said and licked his lip.

 

“You…” Sendak began, struggling to gather his thoughts in a drunken brain. “You caught me off guard.”

 

“You're a coward,” Lotor said.

 

Sendak flinched as though scalded. He tried to jerk his hand free, but Lotor dug his nails into his wrist.

 

“You could die tomorrow, Cornelius,” Lotor said, leaning in so that their noses almost brushed. “And you're still going to touch me like I'm your fucking mother.”

 

Because of Lotor’s lack of leverage from drawing so close, Sendak was able to wrench from his grip, grab his shoulders, and throw him off his lap and onto the mattress. Looming over him, Sendak planted a hand around Lotor’s throat to hold him down on the bed.

 

“You're a son of a bitch,” Sendak said.

 

Lotor choked out a laugh and said, “Probably.”

 

As Sendak closed his fingers, tighter, tighter, around Lotor’s neck, pushing a suffocated flush to the prince’s cheeks, an alarm throbbed in the back of his head. _You don't touch a prince like this,_ it screamed. _You could be exiled; you could be executed._ His breaths were ragged, his body trembling, but when a hand pressed against his chest--not pushing or panicked but caressing--his mind stilled, fell silent.

 

Sendak loosened his grip enough to let the prince breathe again, and Lotor gratefully filled his chest with a deep gulp of air.

 

Lotor relaxed beneath Sendak’s body, face still dark with risen blood, and said, “Fuck me. Now.”

 

Sendak stopped asking questions. He pulled his shirt over his head as Lotor jerked his trousers down past his ass. Thick and heavy with arousal, Sendak’s cock--now fully unsheathed--fell heavy between his exposed thighs. Lotor fell back onto the bed with a satisfied smirk and raised his hips. Taking the cue, Sendak pulled Lotor’s leggings down to his knees with a couple of graceless jerks of the black, flesh-tight fabric. Sendak paused in his frantic undressing, captivated by the spectacle of Prince Lotor lying naked beneath him.

 

The prince’s chest and stomach were taught with muscle, lean as weaponry; his skin was punctuated here and there with small, pale scars that expressed a history of confrontation and success. His skin was smooth but for the trail of white hair guiding Sendak’s eye from stomach to groin. His gaze lingered on Lotor’s cock, swollen red among the dark purple folds of his sheath, which glistened wet with arousal.

 

But his face--his face was excruciating to look at, dark as it was with the high flush of lust. Lotor’s pulse fluttered at his exposed throat, and Sendak had the impulse to bite into him like a ripe fruit. They had seen each other's bare bodies many times in communal settings--it was unavoidable in close quarters and with intense physical activity--but not like this. They had been nude then, not _naked_ , not vulnerable and accessible to touch, to taste...

 

Lotor began to wriggle his legs out from the leggings, but Sendak stopped him with a knee planted on the bunched fabric bridging Lotor’s calves, pinning the prince down.

 

Sendak lowered himself between Lotor's thighs, and Lotor watched as their stomachs pressed together. Their cocks rubbed against each other, hot between their bodies. Lotor lifted a hand to his face to gnaw on the side of his finger while Sendak rolled his hips into him, heightening the friction between them with a rhythm steady but all too timid for Lotor’s tastes. The prince tried to shift and arch against Sendak, but pinned as he was by the legs, he couldn't do much. A frustrated whine left his throat, drawing Sendak’s attention from where his eyes had been trained downward, up to Lotor’s mouth.

 

Sendak lowered his face, breath fanning over Lotor’s mouth, and stuck out his tongue to lick languidly from the bottom rim of the prince’s lower lip up to the dip of his Cupid's bow. Sendak felt him shiver.

 

“Take me,” Lotor said, soft as a sigh, and Sendak could just feel the prince’s lips ghost against his own.

 

Not wanting to irritate Lotor again with hesitation, he decided to be frank: “I don't know what I'm doing.”

 

Lotor blinked at him. “You've never…?”

 

Ears drooping a bit, Sendak gave a quick shake of his head, feeling warm with embarrassment.

 

“Really?” Lotor said, looking genuinely confused, so much so that Sendak might have laughed at the incongruity of the expression on the prince’s face if their cocks weren't still pressed against each other.

 

Lotor tilted his head, inspecting. “Surely I'm not the first to make a pass.”

 

Sendak thought a moment, then, feeling emboldened by their physical intimacy, he said, “No, but I wasn't interested.”

 

Interested _in them_ was implied.

 

With this information coiling warm around his stomach, Lotor grabbed Sendak by the scruff of his neck and pulled him down.

 

Teeth clanging and lips bruising, the young soldiers kissed, combative. As Lotor's tongue slipped between his teeth, Sendak suppressed the thought that this was unnervingly alien; Galra didn't kiss, not with teeth so large and sharp and hair-trigger libidos that tended to make one impatient with foreplay. Life partners engaged in kissing, not a couple of horny young soldiers looking to get off before deployment. But with the sweep of Lotor's tongue over his gums, followed by a prolonged suck of his lower lip, Sendak thought he could be persuaded.

 

As they kissed, Sendak vaguely noticed Lotor reaching over his head to the wall behind the end of the bed, fumbling around and pressing against the matte metal paneling for a door.

 

Sendak pulled away. “What are you doing?”

 

Lotor arched his back to look behind him to see where his hand was going and said, “Lube. Where is it?”

 

Sendak blinked at him, and when Lotor was met with silence, he stopped his search and looked at Sendak, unimpressed.

 

“If you tell me you don't own lube, I'm leaving.”

 

Sendak scrambled to reach over the side of the bed and smack the paneling so that a shallow drawer whirred open from below. Inside were various paraphernalia--not all regulatory--but he spotted the oblong purple bottle and snatched it up. He presented the bottle to Lotor like a peace offering.

 

“Hm,” Lotor said as he took the bottle and inspected the label. “I guess this will do. You need to invest in the scaltrite shit.”

 

And without further ceremony, he popped open the bottle with a decided click and squirted a puddle of sweet-scented fluid onto his fingertips. Hitting the cap against his hip to close it, Lotor tossed the bottle somewhere on the bed and used his clean hand to smack Sendak against the chest, an order to get off of him. Sendak obeyed, sitting back on his heels and watching as Lotor wriggled a leg out of his leggings, which were still caught under the other soldier’s knees. Lotor lifted his free leg up to hook his heel over Sendak’s broad, muscular shoulder.

 

Lotor brought his lubricated fingers between his open legs, sliding them over his folds and down between his cheeks to his entrance. He let his head fall back on the sheets, biting his lip and batting his eyelashes in a shameless performance that sent Sendak’s cock throbbing and his palms sweating. He gripped onto Lotor’s thigh of the leg hiked over his shoulder and dug his nails in, needing an anchor as he watched Lotor’s long fingers trace his entrance then slip inside. When with a lazy rhythm Lotor had worked himself enough to slide in two fingers at once, Sendak whined like a dog.

 

Lotor chuckled. “You like that?”

 

Sendak could only nod, almost trembling with how much he wanted to touch Lotor.

 

While Sendak was distracted, Lotor reached out to take younger soldier’s cock into his free hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the slit slick with precum. Lotor hissed as Sendak’s claws dug deeper into his thigh in response, close to puncturing the smooth flesh. Lotor pumped his hand along Sendak’s length, his thumb and middle finger barely completing their circumscription around his girth. The sides of his shaft were ridged, the texture creating delightful friction even in Lotor’s palm, and his breath caught at the idea of _that_ inside him.

 

Sendak rolled his hips into Lotor’s pumping fist as Lotor matched his pace with the three fingers hooked inside his entrance, loosening himself in preparation. He smiled when Sendak closed his eyes, chewed on his lower lip, and relished in Lotor’s touch.

 

“Good boy,” Lotor said. “Now come here.”

 

He released Sendak’s cock and rose up enough to clutch him by the full, muscular hill of an ass cheek and pull Sendak back down on top of him. Lotor slipped his fingers out to guide Sendak into position at his hole, but before Lotor could coax him through the motion, Sendak’s head pressed into him with a forceful buck of the hips.

 

Lotor gasped, not as prepared for Sendak’s size as he thought, but he relished the burn as the head pressed deeper into taut muscle. He stroked himself to force his body to relax. Sendak, meanwhile, was overwhelmed. His whole body tingled as he slipped deeper into Lotor, the prince’s interior muscles encompassing him, hot and tight.

 

“Shit,” Sendak ground out, trying to concentrate so as not to hurt the prince but feeling almost lightheaded with sensation.

 

With one hand still preoccupied on his cock, Lotor’s other gripped the sheet behind his head to anchor himself while Sendak began to fuck his ass in earnest. Sendak propped is upper body with clenched fists on either side of Lotor’s body; the prince’s hiked up leg was folded between their torsos from where it hung hooked over Sendak’s shoulder. Something about the angle was off, so Sendak yanked down the remaining fabric that captured Lotor’s other leg then lifted it up by the knee as well, bending Lotor in half beneath him. Sendak pounded deeper into the prince, and Lotor swore he could feel every ridge raking across his insides, could feel his intestines being pushed up against his diaphragm. He shuddered from his swimming head to the toes curling above Sendak’s ears.

 

Sendak’s rhythm stuttered. “Are you-- Am I hurting you?” he asked, panting.

 

“No,” Lotor said. “Yes. Keep going.”

 

Sendak grabbed the bottle of lube, squirted it liberally onto the base of his cock, then massaged it along the shaft as he continued to fuck Lotor with shallow thrusts. Sendak could feel Lotor’s entire body loosen like a spring as the lubricant eased the friction inside him. The prince's eyes fell closed and his head lolled to the side as both hands held fistfuls of the disheveled sheet above his head for leverage. He flexed his arms and provided an extra push with each of Sendak’s thrusts.

 

Sendak had yet to bottom out. He watched Lotor’s face, trying to decipher in his furrowed brow and gritted teeth what it was the prince wanted from him.

 

He pushed back up, lifting Lotor by his narrow hips as he sat back on his heels again. Sendak gave a swift buck to keep himself from slipping out of Lotor, and the prince gasped. From this angle, with Lotor’s feet still up over Sendak’s head and his lower back balanced on Sendak’s thighs, he could fuck into Lotor with just the leverage of his legs, leaving his hands free to roam. One large clawed hand held Lotor’s waist, keeping him steady on his cock, and the other reached for his face. Sendak cupped Lotor’s cheek and pressed a thumb into his mouth, prying his jaw open. Saliva dripped over the rim of Lotor’s bruised lip.

 

As they locked eye contact, Lotor closed his lips and hollowed his cheeks to deliver a suggestive suck, making sure Sendak was paying close attention to his mouth.

 

He then bared his teeth and snapped his jaw shut like a hunting trap, driving his incisors into the meat of Sendak’s thumb.

 

“Fuck!” Sendak yanked his hand back, noting in an instant the puncture wounds beading with blood.

 

In an instinctive response to the attack, Sendak brought his injured hand down with a violent smack against Lotor’s cheek as though he were punishing a misbehaving pet. Bloodied spit flew from Lotor’s lips as his head jerked to the side upon impact. The two young men fell still in the following silence. Sendak froze, jaw tight as we watched tears well up at the corners of Lotor’s eyes. Lotor shifted his gaze toward him, his cheek a deep, angry burgundy.

 

Sendak’s heart pounded. He wondered if Lotor would snap his neck or let him bleed out.

 

But Lotor, as always, surprised him. His lips curled as he blinked away the tears, a single crystalline drop trailing down the side of his nose.

 

“That’s better,” Lotor purred.

 

_“Get the fuck down!”_

 

Lotor’s voice rang out above the rumble of mortar shells exploding in the distance. Sendak dropped to the ground as a volley of laser fire showered the black air overhead in a sweeping line of broken chartreuse light. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his skin was hot from the proximity of the beams. Choked screams followed, and when he turned his head, he saw the slower members of his unit crumple to the dirt, their armor steaming and sizzling from where the beams had hit. He could smell flesh burning.

 

He caught sight of Lotor jumping back to his feet, swiping up the long-handled battle axe lying in the dirt beside him as though it were a plastic practice rod not a weapon of solid metal. Radiant as an archaic war god as he strode through the firelight, the prince launched toward the lumbering gold automaton that emerged from roiling darkness. All along the front lines, these alien war machines sprayed laser fire and marched onward over the bodies of fallen Galra soldiers.

 

Swinging his axe with a flourish, Lotor lunged forward and brought the crystal-edged blade up through the arm of the automaton with a spray of wires and sparks. The severed golden arm, which was outfitted at the hand with a now blown and smoking laser gun, fell heavy to the ground, and the automaton lurched sideways, thrown off balance by the absence of weight and the force of Lotor’s swing. Lotor jumped back and crouched into a defensive stance.

 

Sendak pushed himself to his feet, taking up his rifle and scanning the plain. Nearby, a handful of soldiers from another unit engaged with an automaton, one of the men perched on the machine’s shoulders to rip off its head. Hanging by its arteries of sparking and leaking tubes, the head fell against the robot’s chest, and the green bar of light across its face flickered and died.

 

Just as the soldier hopped down from the automaton’s shoulders, however, the light bar flashed red and began blinking. The tempo climbed and climbed until the machine exploded in a brilliant performance of self destruction, fire shooting into the sky, bursting outward, incinerating the soldiers closest to the epicenter of the explosion and throwing the others back several meters, their armor smoking and shredded. The resultant shock wave pulsed through the ground under Sendak’s feet.

 

A cry tore through him, then, like a blade crushing through his sternum, through his heart, and out his back into the fiery night air. He whipped around in the direction of the sound to find that the automaton’s remaining arm had split in half to reveal a humming laser-edged blade, which it held aloft in preparation of another swing. Lotor staggered backward, clutching at his abdomen, but in a wild fury, he wound back his arm and launched his axe at the center of the automaton’s broad chest like a spear. The axe tore through the golden armor and lodged itself deep, throwing the machine into chaos as its wires were severed and spliced by the blade. Its green bar flashed once then went black, and its hulking form slumped.

 

Sendak began to sprint.

 

_“Lotor!”_

 

The prince stalked toward the automaton to yank his axe from the gilt corpse. He heard Sendak’s cry and turned in his direction with a puzzled scowl. But just as he opened his mouth to question why Sendak was running full tilt toward him, screaming his name, Lotor saw red in his periphery and could only stare in horror as the face of the dead automaton began to blink faster and faster and faster.

 

Sendak leapt for him, using his full height and weight to catapult them both out of range of the automaton’s explosion. But in a blinding, deafening instant, they were consumed by fire.

 

_Is this what love looks like?_

 

Blood gushed from Lotor’s nose, flowing over his lips and chin and dripping into the dust. Cheeks red with rage and eyes alight, his lips moved, spitting blood, but no sound came.

 

Sendak’s ears rang. The edges of his vision pulsed and blurred as though he were floating on black water, slipping under.

 

Lotor crawled toward him through the metallic dirt, and Sendak thought he read his name on the prince’s lips. He went to raise a hand toward him, to meet Lotor halfway, but pain like lighting, like the clang of metal on metal, like the color white, shot through him from fingertip to shoulder.

 

He tore his gaze from Lotor and looked down at his arm. He couldn't process what he was seeing: some contorted red mass where singed fur and gold shrapnel dotted the flesh like plant life on a desert plain. A thick shard of white bone protruded from the pulp of muscle and blood where the elbow should have been.

 

_“Cornelius!”_

 

He rolled his focus back to Lotor, Lotor who was pushing himself up with one arm from the dirt to kneel by Sendak’s side. Lotor’s other arm was wrapped around his stomach. In the flash of mortar fire nearby, Sendak made out the high gloss of an iridescent intestine cradled in the prince’s arm.

 

_“Stay with me--”_

 

Sendak thought he was beautiful, the way the scattered light of aerial explosions illuminated him from behind, like the corona of a star.

 

_“--you stupid son of a bitch.”_

 

With his free hand, Lotor reached into his holster for a flare, and aiming it high up over his head, he pulled the trigger. The burst of light blinded Sendak momentarily, but when his vision cleared, he watched as the yellow flare climbed into the roiling black sky, whistling and trailing sparks.

 

Lotor began speaking again, rapidly, but Sendak could only make out the words “medics,” “soon,” and “fucker.”

 

The prince was breathing hard, hair clinging to the blood and sweat on his face and neck. His wild eyes darted over the battle torn terrain of the moon outpost. The atmosphere hung low and heavy with smoke and fire, which cast coiling shadows over the ground and transformed the bodies of soldiers into specters as they charged. Rounds upon rounds of laser fire vibrated the air.

 

Sendak wondered if he would die here, his first combat mission, dragging his mother’s name into the ground with him. Lotor didn't seem as acquiescent to death.

 

He pulled a knife out of his thigh holster and placed the leather-wrapped handle between his teeth, biting down hard. Sitting back on his heels, he took three deep, hissing breaths through his nose--blood bubbling and spurting on each exhale--and on the fourth inhale, he held his breath, straightened his torso, and began to push his intestine back through the stomach wound.

 

Sendak could only watch as Lotor’s entire body shivered with pain, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared around the knife handle. His arms and thighs were spattered in gore. The smell of blood and burned flesh--the automaton’s blade must have cauterized Lotor’s skin as it sliced through--filled Sendak’s nostrils, clouded his head. Nausea snaked through him, but in the fog of shock, he barely registered the sensation.

 

Lotor buckled, panting with his arm held tight around his middle. After taking a moment to breathe, he reached into a pouch at his belt to retrieve a thick needle pre-threaded with thin black wire. With his free hand, he pinched the flayed skin of his belly, and began to thread.

 

_In. Out._

 

_In. Out._

 

_In--_

 

Sendak watched as the glinting needle penetrated the prince’s flesh, meeting resistance at the eye, then slipped through to the other side of the wound with the wire trailing taut behind it. Lotor only managed to sew up the wound halfway before he huffed an exasperated half-scream around the knife handle and dropped the needle to dangle between his thighs. He spat the knife out, and it hit the ground with a puff of silver dust.

 

_“The medics are coming, Cornelius. Just hold on--”_

 

He was sparkling with sweat; his face was as pale as a moon. Sendak felt the impulse to reach out and pet his hair.

 

_“They’re coming--”_

 

_I’m coming I’m--_

 

Lotor threw his head back, ground his teeth, and growled, rabid with pleasure.

 

He clutched at Sendak’s thick shoulders as he held himself in place against Sendak’s frantic thrusting. With Sendak’s claws dug deep into his ass cheeks, Lotor bounced on his lap, riding him and gasping every time Sendak bottomed out. The mattress creaked beneath their heavy rhythm, but the thought that anyone passing by in the corridor could hear them was fleeting in Sendak’s mind. The universe was right in front of him.

 

So enamored by the sight of the prince unravelling in his arms, Sendak could barely pay attention to his own pleasure, to the mounting pressure in his lower abdomen. He wanted to hang suspended in this moment forever, to give Lotor everything he could offer, and if that meant losing something in exchange, that was fine. He would give, and give, and give, and--

 

Sendak felt Lotor clench around his cock. His thighs tightened around Sendak’s hips, and his hands clutched at the younger Galra’s shoulders. The prince’s body tightened, and with the violent beauty of a star gone supernova, he released. Opalescent cum trailed thick over the planes of Sendak's stomach and thighs, the pale pink strings of slick connecting their groins like strands of pearls. Lotor heaved heavy breaths that were close to sobs, his mouth hanging open and wet as he rode Sendak through the aftershock of his orgasm. Watching him, losing himself in softened glow of Lotor’s eyes, Sendak’s rhythm stuttered, and with a violent, instinctive thrust that jolted a yelp out of overstimulated prince, Sendak came inside him.

 

He pulled Lotor in against his body, burying his face in his lover’s hot neck as waves of feeling washed over him, through him. He squeezed Lotor tighter, and to Sendak’s immense relief, Lotor wrapped his arms around Sendak’s neck and pressed his face into Sendak’s hair. They held each other this way, around and inside each other, and were quiet but for their panting.

 

After they untangled themselves, Lotor stood from the bed, insisting he clean up before they went to sleep. As Lotor stretched, swinging his arms and cracking his neck, Sendak spied first the irridescent sheen of cum dripping between his muscular thighs and next the vivid claw marks raked across his ass cheek.

 

_Why do you like that?_

 

Lotor peered at him over his shoulder, a brow raised.

 

_Why do you like sex to hurt?_

 

He stared at Sendak a moment then looked away with a toss of his head, braid swinging against his back.

 

_If you find pain and pleasure in all things, then nothing ever hurts._

 

Sendak refrained from remarking that, by Lotor’s logic, then _everything_ would hurt.

 

And this hurt, this hurt so much: to come this close to having him only to die in his arms.

 

Lotor cupped Sendak’s face with a blood-blackened hand. The prince bowed his head, and the soldiers’ noses touched. Sendak’s eyes fell closed as Lotor’s thumb stroked the peak of his cheekbone.

 

Fire danced behind Sendak’s eyelids. Shimmering into view, as though he were emerging from beneath the dark water, came the vision of a pyre.

 

Purple flame lapped at a twilight sky, the silhouettes of figures standing before the fire casting long shadows like fingers across the ground. In the center stood the familiar figure of his mother, her usually proud, straight shoulders bowed. She trembled, and even in the silent vision, Sendak could still hear her sob. The galra child sat in the dirt, hugging his knees as he watched his father burn.

 

_“Cornelius, I’m so sorry--”_

 

Tilting up his face with what vestiges of strength he had left, Sendak pressed his lips to Lotor’s and silenced him. The ground shook from a nearby explosion, and rays of white-hot light flashed over the soldiers as they embraced in the dirt. The metallic tang of blood washed over Sendak’s tongue. His cheeks grew warm, and as he descended back into the dark water, the realization that he was crying rose through his fading consciousness.

 

_This can't be what love--_

 

_“They're coming. Please hold on--”_

 

Sendak woke alone.

 

As horn flourishes blared from the hallway intercom, the recorded alarm tune seeping through his door like a bad dream, Sendak threw off his comforter and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was frigid beneath his feet, but the discomfort woke him up. He rubbed his face, groaned, noted the aching in his lower back and shoulders where muscles had been worked in repetition in ways they never been before. The flesh over his shoulder blades stung where Lotor’s nails had raked down, leaving his skin faintly striated.

 

As he readied himself for the day--warming up with crunches, grooming, dressing--Sendak tried to focus on the importance of the mission at hand, of his first time on the front, which would define his subsequent military career.

 

_Victory or death._

 

But Lotor kept creeping into his mind:

 

The way he screamed between clenched teeth when Sendak had held fast his hips and fucked so hard into him he had finally bottomed out, his thighs hitting Lotor’s ass with a smack.

 

The way he held tight to Sendak’s shoulders as if clinging to a cliff, burying his face in Sendak’s neck and sobbing, “ _Yes, yes, yes--”_

 

The way his voice had cracked around the words, “ _Hurt me, Sendak.”_

 

Lotor never called him by his family name, his _mother’s_ name. Sendak basked in the memory of that momentary high. As he marched on heavy boot-falls to the hangar where his unit would be convening before deployment, more memories throbbed in rhythm with his steps.

 

_Yes, Sendak, yes--_

 

He arrived somewhat early, the few soldiers present just milling around, chatting, inspecting their guns. Others trickled in after him, yawning and rubbing their faces as if scrubbing off the last traces of sleep.

 

_I'm coming I'm coming I’m--_

 

He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times to refocus. Lotor’s voice wrapped around his mind like smoke; the thought of it made him uncomfortably hard beneath his armor.

 

The mood shifted suddenly, soldiers straightening to attention, and Sendak turned to see Commander Karak entering. Somehow Sendak has forgotten that he was the one overseeing their unit, and bitter and unbidden as a bite into rotten fruit, the thought of Karak and Lotor together sprang up in his mind. His ears twitched back, and he stifled a grimace as Karak approached.

 

Accessorized by ears torn from laser fire and a mean scar that wrapped around his throat, Karak was a prime, undiluted example of Galra masculinity; he was broad, thick-shouldered, and walked like a predator circling its prey. The short hair that covered his ears and head framed his pale face, accentuating the harsh lines of his cheekbones and jaw. His crest of hair, left to grow long, fell in dozens of small beaded braids down the back of his head and neck. He was more aggressive in his appearance than necessarily handsome, but Sendak thought he understood--begrudgingly--Lotor’s attraction, if the rumors were true. Sendak's small victory was that he was taller than Karak by a wide margin. He puffed out his chest a bit knowing well that Lotor appreciated every extra centimeter.

 

The soldiers shuffled into line before Commander Karak, standing at attention. He paced in front of them, hands behind his back, and looked them over.

 

“Alright, ladies,” he said. “Listen up: we have a lot to cover before roll out, so keep your questions to your--”

 

“Commander Karak!” rang out a voice from the end of the hangar.

 

All eyes and ears turned in the direction of the words and the accompanied hurried footfalls. At the sight of Prince Lotor jogging toward them, dazzling in uniform, Sendak’s heart leapt into his throat.

 

As Lotor drew to Karak’s side, the Commander waved a dismissive hand at the soldiers, bidding them to be at ease. While his peers turned to each other to whisper--about the deployment or the prince's unexpected appearance--Sendak watched Lotor and Karak turn their backs to the line. Lotor held out a holo-note to Karak, but the Commander was distracted--understandably by Sendak’s measure of the prince’s fresh-face beauty. Something on Lotor’s cheek caught Karak’s eye, however, and Sendak wondered if his slap had actually left a mark.

 

The Commander raised a hand to brush his finger along Lotor’s cheekbone, but in a gesture so familiar it sent a shock through Sendak’s chest, Lotor tilted his head away from Karak’s touch in rejection. It was with this tilt of the head that Lotor finally looked in Sendak’s direction. They locked eye contact. For a reason Sendak couldn't begin to imagine, Lotor’s face drained of color when he saw him. Nonplussed by the evasion, Karak took the holo-note from the dazed prince’s hand, unlocked the encrypted message with a few swipes of his fingers, and began to read.

 

After a moment, Karak shook his head and waved the note in Lotor’s face. The prince tore his gaze away from Sendak and blinked a few times to regroup and process whatever Karak was growling at him. Lotor snatched the note out of his hand, restored to normalcy by annoyance.

 

Sendak heard him say, “It's not your call to make, Commander. These are orders from the top.”

 

“I'm not sending fucking _toddlers_ to the Golden Front,” Karak rose his voice, spitting the words out between gritted teeth. “And if it's true that even _Sendak_ has gone MIA, then we need to be pulling out of there, not sending in cannon fodder.”

 

At the sound of his family name, Sendak’s blood turned to ice.

 

“I know,” Lotor said, growing visibly frustrated. “This is not an ideal scenario for anyone involved, but that's not our call--”

 

“What the hell is going on?”

 

At the sound of Sendak’s voice, Lotor and Karak--and the rest of the uneasy unit--fell into a tense silence. After the surprise of the interruption wore off, Karak began to lay into him.

 

“You watch your mouth, soldier,” he said, turning and stepping forward to point a black-clawed finger in Sendak’s face. “I don't remember giving you permission to spea--”

 

“It's alright,” Lotor said, placing a hand on Karak’s shoulder in a gesture that from a distance would appear congenial, but Sendak could see the way Lotor’s fingers squeezed with an unspoken threat. “These soldiers are men. They have a right to know what's waiting for them.”

 

Lotor approached Sendak, and they held each other’s gazes like two planets tidally locked in their orbits.

 

The prince handed Sendak the note without another word; the two held either end of the tablet for a beat too long as a breath of desire passed over them both. They were so close, Sendak could now see the fine cut across Lotor’s cheek where one of Sendak’s claws must have scraped him. His brow was furrowed, jaw tight with grinding teeth. Sendak wanted to touch him, to smooth out the rigidity in his form, to draw out the Lotor who was soft and warm and bright as quintessence flowing through Sendak’s arms from the night before.

 

Lotor released the holo-note; the moment passed. Sendak bent his head to read, scanning the pink text for words that he didn't want to see. His heart began to pound.

 

He read the words: GOLDEN FRONT and CASUALTIES.

 

He read the words: UNITS and GENERALS.

 

He found the words: COMMANDER SENDAK IRA.

 

And below his mother’s name, he read: MISSING IN ACTION. PRESUMED DEAD.

 

The floor fell out beneath him.

 

“--my reputation on the line because the Emperor wants to send some kids to the slaughterhou--”

 

Karak and Lotor’s voices came in and out of Sendak's mind like light beams sweeping through dense fog.

 

“--can go then. I'll take them to the front.”

 

Sendak snapped to attention.

 

“What?” Karak said. “Who the hell is going to authorize a transfer like that _now?_ We have T-minus four Vargas before our scheduled depar--”

 

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” Lotor said. He got in Karak’s face, snarling. “I don't need _authorization._ If you're too much of a cocksucker to lead these men, then I'll take responsibility for them.”

 

Lotor turned on the heel of his boot to face the line of confused young soldiers, his face open and fierce with authority as he addressed them:

 

“I will take you to the Golden Front--” Karak began to protest, but Lotor lifted a dangerous hand to silence him “--and if you have any objection to this arrangement, you are free to leave with Commander Karak as members of his unit. There will be no penalty against you. Otherwise, I am henceforth your commanding officer.”

 

An electric silence fell, each young man waiting to see who would speak, who would move, who would choose his life above his honor first, or his honor over life.

 

To the slack jawed horror of all those in line, Sendak stepped forward and said, “I will follow you to the front, Your Highness.”

 

As when thin cloud cover passes over a noon-time sun, the ferocity in Lotor’s face softened. Sendak thought he looked almost...

 

_“Cornelius! Don't--”_

 

Pain shot through Sendak’s chest as he inspected his rifle. He paused, measured his breathing with a furrowed brow, unsure of the cause for the sudden spike of panic. As expected, he hadn't slept much the night before; perhaps that was it. 

 

For distraction, he looked up from his lap to watch the remaining members of his unit as they hustled between the loading docks and the main corridor of the hangar, pushing carts of ammunition and food supplies, hauling rucksacks half their size of survival gear. Usually, the men would be talking, roughhousing, getting barked at by officers for fucking around when they had a job to do; they would be vibrant with anticipation for the opportunity to put years of training to use.

 

Today, the loading dock was silent but for the shuffle of boots and the clicking of gun parts.

 

Lotor walked toward Sendak from across the dock, and Sendak noted but paid little mind to the stares cast their way. Already the cogs were churning in the minds of his comrades, trying to connect the dots of the bizarre exchanges between Sendak, Lotor, and Karak from earlier. When he looked at Lotor, however, he only thought to himself, _Let them talk._

 

The prince took a seat beside Sendak on the bench. They gazed down at each other's hands: Sendak’s resting atop his gun and Lotor's clasped between his knees.

 

“You're a fool for going,” Lotor said.

 

Sendak took a deep breath. “You knew what was going to happen as soon as you read my mother’s name.”

 

Lotor nodded, worried his lip between his teeth.

 

“Are you afraid?” he said, looking Sendak full in the face.

 

Sendak’s eyes drifted from the prince’s to the cut on his cheek. Without thinking, he raised his fingers to trace the mark, and Lotor leaned into Sendak’s touch.

 

Love, Sendak had thought, meant victory, attached always to notions of power and conquest, and whatever it was he was searching for in Lotor was something all too alien to pursue.

 

But with the heat of the prince’s skin against his calloused palm, he wondered if perhaps love could simply mean _to not turn away._

 

_Are you afraid?_

 

_Of combat?_

 

_Of death._

 

Lotor was still waiting for an honest answer.

 

“Yes,” Sendak said. “I'm terrified.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
